


Flight Risk

by nirejseki



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Gen, Joe West's A+ Parenting, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2016-10-26
Packaged: 2018-08-27 05:24:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8388916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nirejseki/pseuds/nirejseki
Summary: When Henry Allen is brought into Iron Heights for the first time, Leonard Snart is twenty-two years old, sick of his cellmate, and bored half to death.
(an alternate first meeting)





	

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: Not for Joe West fans, sorry.

When Henry Allen is brought into Iron Heights for the first time, Leonard Snart is twenty-two years old, sick of his cellmate, and bored half to death.

He leans on the bars and idly watches the new arrivals go by, amusing himself by trying to guess what crime each committed. He’s found it’s not that hard to tell if you look at the details. 

Fixed gaze, murder. Shaking shoulders, something drug-related, likely robbery. Nonchalance, carjacking. Steady hands, pickpocket. Twitchy eyes, manslaughter. Barely concealed terror – either a first-timer or, if they had a nice haircut, something financial. 

When his eyes skin over Henry Allen, he notes the steady hands, thinks ‘pickpocket’, and moves on – then draws his eyes back a second later.

No, that’s not right. His hands are as still as a rock, even in prison, but his expression is nothing like a pickpocket’s. This man has never met another criminal in his life, his haircut is nice but not finance-guy nice, his shoulders are low like he bears the weight of the world on them.

Huh.

Len watches as they go into processing. When they’re turned out onto the field while the guards try to figure out their placements, the old hands immediately go to their preferred areas while the new guys flock together like anxious pigeons. Henry Allen stands aside, wringing his hands.

Len makes a beeline for him.

“What did you do?” he asks flat out, not bothering with pleasantries.

Allen blinks. “Isn’t that rude to ask?” he says weakly.

“Not what did you do to get in here,” Len says dismissively. That’s not actually a rude question anywhere but on television: it’s in many ways the _only_ question, here in prison, where half of everyone talks of little else than about what they did because of that stupid human fondness for confessing one’s sins. “What’d you do? Your job, I mean.”

“I – my _job_?” Allen says, clearly taken aback. “I was a surgeon.”

Steady hands. Len smiles.

“Nice to meet you, Doc,” he says. “I think we can be friends.”

“Because I’m a surgeon?”

“Because you have something to teach me,” Len says. “I’ve always wanted to know how to take care of people.”

“You want to be a doctor?” Allen says, looking surprised.

“No,” Len says patiently. “I want to be able to stitch up my crew after they get shot on a heist.”

“Oh.”

Allen looks uncomfortable as hell, but Len’s got time. Allen’s got time. In here, there’s little else _but_ time. Len’s serving two years for theft and he’s got most of the time left to go, and Allen – 

Allen looks like he’s lost all hope.

_Lifer._

You learn to tell pretty quick.

“C’mon,” Len says coaxingly. “You stick with me, I’ll make sure none of the Family boys get you, how’s that?”

“The _Families_?” Allen says, looking horrified like the fact that there’d be mafia boys in prison didn’t occur to him. 

Len laughs and pats him gingerly on the shoulder. He hates physical contact most of the time, is unaccustomed to it, but something about Allen’s face makes him want to ruffle his hair. “I’m guessing they’re not the ones that set you up? Do you know who did?”

“Set me up?” Allen echoes.

“I don’t know what it is that you’re supposed to have done,” Len says. “But unless you tell me here and now that you did it, I don’t think you did.”

“I didn’t,” Allen says, quiet as a mouse, eyes wide and still a little vacant with shock. “I didn’t – Nora, my wife, someone killed her – I told our son to run and he disappeared, but by the time I got in there someone stabbed her, I don’t know who, she was twisting – I had to hold the knife in place to make sure there wasn’t any more damage –”

“And that’s how the pigs found you,” Len says knowingly. “And since you couldn’t finger anyone else, it had to be you.”

Allen scrubs his face. “Our best friend, actually,” he says, shaking his head. “Lived down the street from us, didn’t even come in a car. Ran over on foot. He’s the one that found us.” He winces a little. “He testified at my trial.”

_Not on my side_ remains unspoken, but obvious.

“Teach me your medical stuff, and I’ll keep the Families off your ass,” Len repeats his offer. He’s a Snart; he’s got enough of a reputation to keep them back, and after he gets out of here, he’s going to have even _more_ of a rep. Two years in the clink should give Allen enough time to learn how to protect himself, anyway. “C’mon, Doc. You won’t get a better offer with a lower price.”

“I’m sure,” Allen says drolly. “Fine. What do you want to know?”

“Right now?” Len says, smiling. “Just your prisoner number so I can go talk to the guards. We’re gonna be cellies, you and I.”

Allen inclines his head, accepting it. He looks relieved. 

Two years later, Len still wants to ruffle Allen’s hair – the man gets no visitors other than his son, and his son’s being raised by the piece of shit cop that turned over his best friend for murder, no less – and he knows how to stitch them up like a pro, good enough that both he and Allen have jobs in the prison infirmary instead of working prison industry like the rest. 

Len had to do some tricky maneuvering for that placement, but it’ll keep Doc Allen safe. No man in prison fucks up the guy who’ll be stitching them up later: the infirmary’s full of sharp things, poisonous things, and it’s only because Allen’s such a goddamn goody two-shoes that the guards eventually conceded and let him do his stuff. Also because the prison docs found out there was a highly qualified surgeon among them that _didn’t_ get tossed in for intentional med-mal and were rioting in favor of hiring him. 

After this long inside, Allen knows what magnitude a favor Len did for him, coming to him on that first day, and before Len leaves for freedom, he puts a hand on Len’s shoulder. “Good luck, kid,” he says, unable to resist the nickname because apparently there’s only a ten or so year difference between Len and the guy’s real kid. Len permits it only because Allen’s so goddamn needy, and also because his father’s never called him that, and maybe, just maybe, because he’s a bit needy, too. “Be safe out there, okay? I don’t want to turn on the news and see you get shot.”

“You’ll see the pigs lost and confused is what you’ll see,” Len says, proud and arrogant. “As I get away with the take.”

Allen grins. “You’ll leave them all clueless,” he agrees fondly. “Go get rich and don’t come back here too quickly, now.”

Len goes. 

He goes straight back to his profession, of course; he’s been a thief ever since he was old enough to pick pockets and he’d been working professionally since he left home at age sixteen to avoid being murdered in one of his father’s fits of rage. He’s good, too; he hasn’t wasted his time in prison, learning a hell of a lot more than just surgery. Even aside from picking the older con's brains for mistakes they made and tricks they recommend, he’s read a lot, read as much as he could: law and architecture and engineering.

His first heist after he gets out of the can goes well enough to get a few approving nods. His second raises a few eyebrows.

Somewhere between the second and third, he finds Mick again from wherever he’d vanished off to after Len had been nabbed on that godawful job gone wrong; Len had had to order him out, not wanting him to be stuck inside with Len and likely for a longer sentence, and here he was, still out and about. 

It feels good to be working with someone he trusts.

It reminds him to go visit Allen, picking days when the guy’s kid won’t be there so as to give Allen more time off the yard. Allen is always pleased to see him.

The third heist blows everybody’s socks off, a giant pull of precious gems, more money than Len’s ever seen before in his life. But he doesn’t stop there. 

After the seventh successful major heist he pulls, Len’s reputation as an especially skilled, talented thief is made and even the cops are talking about him. Not by name, of course: they can’t prove anything and he’d reminded them cheerfully about slander laws applying to cops as well as they did anyone else.

He still goes to visit Allen. 

His streak of good luck doesn’t last forever, of course, and he goes in again, another short stint because he knows enough to plead down to the smallest time he can manage and because they haven’t exactly caught him doing anything all _that_ bad, and this time he’s got Mick at his side.

Allen’s got himself a nice cellmate, a harmless guy that knocked over a handful of ATMs the way Len did when he was first starting up, and Len maneuvers himself into a room with Mick a few doors down. He introduces Mick to the doc, and they hit it off because Allen never talks down to anyone like they’re stupid, no matter how stupid they pretend to be or even really are, and Mick’s always liked people like that. 

The first riot that breaks out, and there’s always one or two in summer, Mick beats the crap out of all the guys who even so much as joked about Doc Allen, and Allen’s reputation is made even safer.

The next time they’re tossed inside, it’s not Iron Heights. They end up breaking out.

Len opts to keep in touch with Allen by letter after that, and sometimes the occasional phone call. He’s officially wanted in a handful of places.

On Allen’s suggestion, Len and Mick take Lisa on a trip to Europe for the summer. It’s both educational _and_ enrichening, in all the relevant senses. Allen had recommended all the good museums.

After they get back, Len calls him to thank him.

“I didn’t mean for you to steal something at each one, you know,” Allen says, voice suspiciously merry. He's gotten better about not trying to force things like law and order onto people that didn't want any part of them.

“I didn’t steal anything more than some really good photos,” Len lies with equal glee. The cops listen onto prison lines, so Len admits to nothing, but everybody on the line – Allen, Len, the guards, the FBI – all know he’s guilty as sin. “Anyway, I got you some goodies; I’ll send you up a care package, plus a magazine of the type I know you like. But send me that back, will you? I know how mags get treated in prison.”

“I’ll send it back,” Allen promises.

Sure enough, he sends the art magazine back with a few pretty pictures circled, his particular favorites. Len is careful not to steal those ones exactly, at least not when he’s stealing from public sources, but he gets a few of the type, takes a photo, and sends them to Allen before he fences them.

It drives the cops nuts.

“They want me to turn evidence against you,” Allen signs to him across the glass when Len comes in for an in-person visit, now that all those warrants are either closed or looking elsewhere. He looks distressed. Len’s glad he taught the guy sign language when he was picking it up himself those first two years; Mick’s known it since before Len went in and learning it has been the smartest investment Len’s ever made. “For the next time you tell me something, I mean.”

Allen doesn’t want to betray Len like that, how cute. This is why he needs to be protected.

“You should,” Len signs back, chatting about the weather as he does. “I never tell you anything really important anyway, and if I do, I’d let you know in advance. It’s for your own good, Allen.”

“I thought you hated snitches.”

“You work in the infirmary and the guards love you.” Len rolls his eyes. “Just don’t snitch on anyone inside. C’mon, Allen, all that set up and you’re going to duck out at the last minute?”

Allen laughs aloud, voice surprised and pleased. “You did it on purpose,” he says accusingly and admiringly. “You knew!”

“I always know about cold weather, it’s a skill of mine,” Len replies misleadingly, grinning his confirmation. “Whenever I can work it into my plans, I do.”

“You don’t need to protect me from, ah, _cold weather_ ,” Allen says. He’s adorably terrible at talking in code. Len wants to adopt him. Or for Allen to adopt _him_. He’s pretty easy. “I’m stuck in prison, remember? I’m fine.”

Len shakes his head, amused.

It’s exactly seven years from the day they’ve met when Len’s tossed into Iron Heights again, but when he is, Mick at his side, Allen looks miserable. 

“Who’s been bugging you?” Mick asks before Len can get there. 

“No one, no one,” Allen says.

“Don’t give us that crap,” Len says. “Who?”

“No, really, no one,” Allen says. “It’s just – it’s my son’s graduation. I’m going to miss it.”

“Apply for a day pass,” Len suggests.

“I did,” Allen says, eyes sad. “They said no.”

“To _you_?” Mick says, surprised. “You’re as good as it gets.” 

Allen shrugs. “They don’t think I’m a flight risk, but there’s been some new laws put in place to keep lifetime felons from being allowed out except under special circumstances. Plus Joe showed up at the hearing and said he doesn’t think it’ll be good for Barry’s emotional state if I attend – remind him of what happened to his mother, or of his desire to prove me innocent – so the court denied the motion.”

Well.

_That_ can’t be allowed to stand.

\---------------------------

“I’m not going and walking the stage,” Barry says stubbornly, crossing his arms. “Damnit, Joe, I don’t even know if my dad’s okay!”

Joe crosses his own arms. “Barry,” he says, that slightly patronizing tone that comes into his voice every time they talk about Barry’s Dad creeping in already. Barry knows Joe means well, but he _hates_ that tone. “You know your dad would want you to graduate no matter what, right? There’s been trouble and lock-downs at Iron Heights plenty of times and nothing’s happened to your dad. We don’t even know if it’s anything serious.”

“But we haven’t been able to get _any_ information –”

“They’re just locking down the information for the benefit of the public,” Joe says, equally firm. “C’mon, Bar. You know they would’ve told me if there was a real problem.”

Barry knows that, but he isn’t entirely sure Joe would tell _him_ about it.

“Besides, you know your dad wants to see a photo of you walking the stage,” Joe says, sensing weakness and moving in for the kill. “How would you feel if it turns out the whole Iron Heights business is no big deal and then we have to explain why we don’t have any pictures of you in your graduation robes getting your diploma?”

Barry wavers. “But –”

“Go graduate,” Joe says kindly but firmly. “I’ll give Iron Heights a call as soon as it’s done, okay? But we need to move now or else I’ll miss Iris giving her speech – you don’t want us missing that, do you?”

“No, of course not,” Barry says automatically. He knows how excited Joe was when it turned out Iris would be giving the salutatorian speech at graduation. 

“Then go get in line,” Joe orders. “We’ll go out for steaks after dinner to celebrate, okay? It’ll be fun!”

Barry’s shoulders slump a bit, but he goes to get in line with a sigh. He wishes he knew more about what was going on at Iron Heights – some TV news guy had said there was a possible break-out, hostages taken, but the CCPD had closed its iron fist around all information since then, reporting only than an “incident” had occurred and that they were locking down the facility to handle it. No news, no way to check if Dad was okay…

He wasn’t exactly in a celebratory mood. 

And he was definitely not getting steaks afterwards if they still hadn’t gotten any information, that’s for sure!

Barry sighs again, knowing that if he protested, Joe would just point out that Barry was ruining Iris’ big day along with his own, and Barry would fold like a cheap house of cards. Might as well give in now. Neither he nor Iris had ever gotten their way when Joe was set on something – man, Barry remembered the epic fight around Iris’ original plans to go into the police academy either instead of, alongside, or right after college; Joe hadn’t spoken to her for over a _month_. Barry had been on the edge of a nervous breakdown the entire time and all of that over a theoretical discussion!

Worst of all, he knows that Iris didn’t so much give up as shelve the discussion for later time. The only person as stubborn as Joe West is Iris West.

“Hey, you,” a voice says. “You there!”

Barry blinks and turns to look. There’s a man standing there, probably in his late twenties, maybe his thirties, wearing a nice sweater and slacks; he’s probably there to support a sibling graduating or something. He’s got closely clipped black hair and a very striking set of eyes – actually, he’s pretty hot, and at eighteen Barry is _finally_ ready to aim a little higher than the boys and girls in his graduating class, but Barry’s not going to say anything. Not while his dad could be in trouble. 

“Can I help you?”

“You Barry Allen?” the guy asks, squinting at Barry like he’s trying to place him.

“Yeah, that’s me,” Barry says, puzzled. “Is there a problem?”

“No problem at all. Can you come with me?”

“You’re not from the CCPD, are you?” Barry asks, abruptly alarmed. “My dad’s okay, right?”

“Not from the CCPD, I promise,” the guy says, looking amused for some reason. “Just a graduation thing. Follow me?”

Barry nods and follows the guy down the other way. God, he doesn’t want to graduate. He wants to know his dad’s _alive_ , damnit. He can’t just graduate knowing that he might find out tomorrow that his dad got killed in some prison accident.

“I can’t do this,” he abruptly says aloud.

The guy turns and looks at him. “What, graduate? Why not?”

“My dad – it’s a long story, but I’m worried about him. I can’t just go party when he could be in danger!”

The guy looks approving for some reason. “Good idea, bad execution. Listen, come with me, get this over with, and then you can hash out if you’re going to graduate or not, okay?”

“Sure,” Barry says, then frowns. “Wait, where are we going? The administrative offices aren’t this way.”

“For the love of god,” the guy says, rolling his eyes. “ _Mick!_ ”

One of the abandoned classroom doors down the hall opens up and a big guy looks out. “What?”

“Bring out the package, will you? The kid’s balking.”

“Hell yes I’m balking,” Barry says, eyeing the door behind him. “Where the hell are you trying to take me? What package?”

“Barry?”

Barry freezes. That sounds like – 

“ _Dad?_ ” he gasps as another man comes around from behind the big guy (Mick?), this one far more familiar. “ _Dad!_ ”

He dashes forward and throws his arms around his dad, who grabs him and hugs him in return. “I’m okay, I’m okay,” his dad says, rocking Barry back and forth like he used to when Barry was little. “It’s okay. I’m so proud of you. I’m _so proud_ of you, Barry – look at you, high school graduate, and one of the smartest in your class. Oh, _Barry_ –”

“But how are you _here_?” Barry asks, refusing to pull away long enough to wipe away the tears streaming down his face. “Joe said the court denied your motion for release…”

“Unsurprising,” the guy who’d brought him originally drawls. “Given that your Joe West spoke _against_ the doc here coming.”

“Wait, what?” Barry says, frowning. “That’s not right – he spoke _for_ it; the court just rejected it. I mean, he never said exactly, he didn’t say anything other than the fact that it got rejected, but, I mean, he must have, right?” He looks at his dad. “Right?”

“I don’t think we need to get into that right now,” his dad temporizes.

“He spoke _against_ you coming?” Barry exclaims, intensely dismayed. His dad was a pretty straightforward guy, but he hated talking badly about Joe because he knew Joe was the one taking care of Barry, Barry knew that. But he wouldn’t lie to Barry, so if he wasn’t answering, it means the guy was _right_. “What the hell?”

“I’m sure he thought it was what’s best for you,” Barry’s Dad says firmly.

“What’s best for me is _you_ , Dad,” Barry says loyally. “I know you’re not guilty, no matter how many times Joe says otherwise, and I want you to watch me walk the stage – I don’t know why he thought it would be better if you didn’t come!”

“Well, it doesn’t matter,” the first guy says. “He’s here now, ain’t he?”

“Yes,” Barry says gratefully. Then – “Wait, but if the court rejected the motion, how are you here? Did they reconsider?”

His Dad looks embarrassed. “Actually, it’s a little more complicated than that,” he says, voice a little dry. “Barry, this is Len beside you, and the big one is Mick.”

Mick waves.

“They’re, ah, some people I’ve gotten to know in Iron Heights,” his dad continues, his voice getting drier and more ironic-sounding as he went. “They like to break out of prison.”

“And we’re pretty good at it, too,” the guy his dad had called Len puts in. “Now your dad here doesn’t do that sort of thing, so we just took him hostage instead. At least until he gets to see you walk, anyhow, then we’ll let him go free.”

“We’re very intimidating,” Mick offers cheerfully from where he’s slouched casually against the wall.

Barry gapes at the two of them. “You – you broke my dad out of prison so he could _see me graduate_?”

“Weren’t nothing,” Len says with a shrug. “We were planning on getting out anyway.”

Barry turns to face his dad. “You came to see me walk,” he says, warmth filling him from his head to his toes. “You broke out of prison to see me graduate?”

“I didn’t exactly have much of a choice,” his Dad says, but the way Len and Mick are standing, all casual, no guns out or anything, tells Barry everything he needs to know. If his dad really didn’t want to be there, he wouldn’t be, and they wouldn’t have forced him to be; they’d be getting out of Central City right away. 

His dad _broke the law_ to come to see Barry.

Barry hugs his Dad tight and gets a hug in return.

“I just want you to know how proud I am of you,” his dad whispers into Barry’s cheek. “I’m so proud of you. _So proud_. You’re everything I ever hoped for in a son and more. I’m going to watch you walk that stage, and you’re going to go to college, and you’re going to be anything you want. You have no limits, Barry. You can do anything.”

“I’m going to get you out of prison,” Barry promises. “I’m going to prove that you didn’t do it.”

“Oh, Barry –”

“I _am_ ,” Barry says stubbornly. “You said anything, remember? This is what I want to do, Dad. And I’m going to do it.”

He gets another hug for that.

“Time’s ticking down,” Len says, making a show of glancing at his watch. “Barry here’s got 42 seconds to make it back to his seat before anyone notices he’s missing.”

“I’ll be in the far back,” Barry’s Dad promises. “I’ll be watching. Come visit me in a few days and tell me all about it, okay?”

“I promise,” Barry says, feeling lighter than air. He gives his dad a final hug and follows Len out.

“Thank you for helping him,” he tells Len as they walk back towards the auditorium. “Thank you for bringing him here.”

“My pleasure,” Len says. “Doc Allen’s a good guy.” He hesitates for a moment. “Doc Allen’s a good enough guy that he don’t want to tell you all the details, but since I’m _not_ a good guy, I’ll do it for him: that cop guy you live with? Joe West?”

“Yeah?”

“He spoke out against your dad coming to your graduation, and he’s spoken out _against_ your dad getting a day pass any number of other times. The court hearings are sealed, so you can’t see them unless you were to break into the court reporter’s office –” Barry makes a mental note to do that at some point. “But I’m going to guess that the reason your dad hasn’t been to see you as often as he’d like is because of that.”

“I’m going to talk to him about it –”

“Don’t,” Len says sternly. “You don’t want him to wonder how you got that information, okay?”

Barry nods.

“Oh, and kid?”

“Yeah?”

“The prison guards made a call alerting all relevant individuals to what happened earlier today,” Len says, watching Barry. “Neither Mick nor I have anyone, so they only made one phone call, local line.” He recites the number and Barry goes cold.

“That’s Joe’s number,” he whispers.

“If you confront him, he’ll just say he didn’t want you upset right before you graduated, and he’ll probably think that’s what he meant, too,” Len says sympathetically. “My dad was a piece of shit cop, too, and I know plenty of the type.”

“Joe’s not a piece of –”

“No, but he thinks of you as his son,” Len says, his voice cold and hard. “ _His_ son, not Henry Allen’s son. And your foster dad? Don’t want to share you with a guy he thinks is a murderer. He resents every minute you spend with him, and he tries to cut it down all the while swearing that it’s for your own good. Well, it ain’t.”

“Joe’s not like that,” Barry says stubbornly, but perhaps without all of the passionate conviction he might have had a few minutes ago. Besides, he knows Joe doesn’t believe him about Dad. He’s always known. “He – he probably just didn’t want me to worry, since there wouldn’t be anything I could do about it. That’s much more like him. I don’t agree with what he did in this case, but he’s always tried to do the best for Iris and me.”

Len shrugs. “Think as you like.”

“A guy he thinks is a murderer, you said,” Barry echoes, opting to change the subject and focusing on one part of Len’s speech that stood out to him. “You don’t?”

“Never did,” Len says. “Doc Allen’s as close to a stand-up guy as I’ve ever met. No way he did what they say he did – and hey, kid?”

“Yeah?”

“Gimme your number.”

“What? Why?”

“Because after we drop your dad back at Iron Heights – his request, ‘cause he’s a crazy person like that – and take some time to let the heat cool off, I’d like to do a bit of investigating into who or what set your dad up to take the fall. And judging from what I just overheard, that’s something you’re interested in as well.”

“You bet,” Barry says, straightening his shoulders and reciting his number to Len. “I’m going to warn you,” he adds. “The story’s a bit weird.”

“A murder ain’t never weird,” Len says firmly. “Once you get past the details, they’re all the same. The only thing we’re missing are the details, and all you need to understand the details is enough intel. It’s only ‘weird’ ‘cause we don’t have enough intel yet.”

Barry nods, almost trembling with emotion. “Thank you,” he whispers. “ _Thank you_.”

Len smirks, his eyes lightning up a little with pleasure and mischief. “Happy to help,” he says, then abruptly steps closer. “Besides, maybe I’ve got an ulterior motive for getting that number of yours. You’re plenty cute, you know that?”

Then he disappears while Barry is still stuttering.

Barry makes it back to his seat in time for Iris’ speech and gets called third up to the stage. As he walks, he looks out into the audience.

He sees Joe smiling proudly in the third row, and he smiles automatically, but his eyes move on, going further back. There’s his dad, hanging out by the door to the auditorium, sobbing his eyes out and waving frantically.

Barry waves.

They both wave back. 

That’s how it should be, both of them, _both_ of his parents there, with only his mom missing. He doesn’t want to fight with Joe about it – he _can’t_ fight with Joe about it, not without revealing where he found out about it – but Joe's wrong. Barry’s not going to give up on fighting to prove his dad’s innocence.

Barry accepts his diploma and walks off the stage, and goes to cheer for Iris with all of his heart. 

Later, they’ll have steaks and celebrate.

And even later, he’ll call Len and see how serious he was.


End file.
